


Christmases

by deanobanion



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: F/M, Historical, addition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanobanion/pseuds/deanobanion





	Christmases

1920

Dean and Viola’s first Christmas together had been apart. He didn’t think it would be proper to come to her family party; he didn’t want to cause any more drama, at least not on Christmas, so he told her that he’d take her out the day after. So instead, he found himself seated at an old table on the top floor of Schofield’s with the boys in his smoke filled office, playing cards.

"If I lose any more money, I’ll have to pawn this.” Dean said pulling a small black box from his jacket pocket and holding it between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s. That’s not what I think it is. You’re crazy, Deanie. You just met this broad.” Vincent stammered from across the table.

“Have I been known to make dumb decisions in the past, Vinnie?”

The room exploded in laughter. “Ah, shut your traps,” Dean sunk down in his chair and stared at his cards while they kept it up.

“Who are you to laugh, you stupid fuck.” Dean yelled at Bugs who was nearly in tears, retelling the tale of one of Hymie and Dean’s failed robberies that had gotten them more trouble from the law than loot. “I’m telling you boys, this isn’t a mistake.”

“She’s a fine girl Dean, we’re just fooling with you.” Hymie said, patting him on the back. “Besides you’re getting kind of old. Gotta settle down sometime.”

“Old? Just because I ain’t in diapers like you anymore, doesn’t mean I’m old.”

“Your hairline says otherwise.” Hymie said, reaching his hand out to smooth back Dean’s hair. Dean slapped his hand off of his face and leaped on him. The two were a swirl of fists and curses on the floor, while the rest of the boys took bets.

It took a while, but after Dean finally made Hymie scream uncle, he helped him up. “Merry Christmas, asshole,” he said as he brushed dirt from the floor off of his friend.

“Yeah, yeah, you too.” Hymie laughed, wiping blood from his lip.

—

1922

It was close to 11pm on Christmas day before they made it home for the night. Viola’s family party had dragged on longer than they had intended to be there, just as it had the year before, and they were dead tired when they finally slipped through the door to their apartment. Dean threw off his coat and hat hastily, loosened his tie, then sat down in his chair and began to untie his shoes.

“No more of this, Viola. Christmas Eve we pop over and see my folks, then go visit your family. Fine. But no more on Christmas Day.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad,” Viola said, also taking off her coat and getting off of her feet.

“It’s noisy and your father… he looks at me like I… like I’m…”

“Psh. He brags about you to everyone he sees. People know who you are Dean, they ask lots of questions and he pretends to be in the know. He gets a real kick out of it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Well he does. He probably just acts like that around you because when you’re over there you always look so… uncomfortable.”

“I am. Look, I just want to sit home with my wife for one day of the holiday without all that yammering.”

Viola didn’t mind, she loved parties, but it would be nice to have one holiday all to their selves. Every other was eaten up by other people. Forth of Julys were spent with her cousins, picnicking on Lake Michigan. Thanksgiving and Easter dinners included a mix of both their families and they always dragged on for hours. The weeks before Christmas were busy for him too, but Christmas day was the only holiday that they completely closed down the shop for.

“How about now? Are you comfortable?” she said, joining him in his chair and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay then, I agree. Next year, we’re not going to any Christmas day parties,” Viola whispered.

“Just me and you, Vi.”

—

1923

Dean walked into the kitchen nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets and said to his wife, “I just got off the phone with Hymie. Josephine is stuck in Canada because of the weather, so… He’ll be all alone.”

Viola heard the hint through the statement well enough. “Oh, I’m so mad at you Dean O’Banion!” she spat. “And after you made all that fuss last year about Christmas day being just the two of us!”

“I know. I know. But he’s alone… on Christmas, Vi,” Dean begged.

“He has a family.”

“His brother is in town. They don’t get along.”

Viola threw her hands in the air in defeat. “Fine!” she said, “but no cursing at the table and keep your hands off of each other. I want no wrestling matches in my house on Christmas.”

“Got it,” Dean said and skipped back to the phone. “Yeah, dinner’s at six, and be on your best behavior, you polak bastard.” He was sure that Hymie heard Viola scream “What did I just say!?” in the background before he hung up.

Hymie arrived just as Viola was finishing setting the table. The three of them sat down and held hands in prayer before tucking in to the feast she had prepared: roasted prime rib fresh from Chicago’s meat packing houses, mashed potatoes, and fluffy rolls served with butter

“Delicious dinner, Viola. Thank you for letting me intrude.” Hymie said after he had taken a few bites of everything.

“Eh, don’t let her fool you,” Dean said. “She was on the phone with her mother the whole time.” Miming talking into a telephone and speaking in his best little girl voice, he continued, “Mommy how long do I boil the potatoes?”

“Watch your mouth or I swear to God I’ll throw it all out the window,” Viola said and by the look on her face, she meant it. Hymie stifled a laugh at how quick it shut Dean up.

He left shortly after dinner, after thanking Viola and apologizing for the inconvenience again. When Dean shut the door he turned around to find Viola shaking her head at him. “I’m going to bed, you clean this up and join me when you’re done.”

“Oh?” Dean grabbed her and hugged her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed into her ear.

“It’s okay. You know I like Earl, but we had a plan.”

“I know. Next year, I promise. Let me make it up to you?” he said, kissing her neck and trying to undo the buttons on the back of her dress.

Viola smirked and slipped out of his grip. “I said after,” she pointed at the dirty dishes and pans in the sink and skipped off to bed. She assumed he would make quick work of it, and he did.

—-

1924

There wasn’t a next year, at least not for Dean. Viola remembers little about that Christmas aside from the sticky heat of Florida, her sister’s pleas with her to eat, get dressed, come out with her and try to have fun, and the darkness of the bedroom she was staying in.


End file.
